Small Town Treasure

Twilight drapes were being drawn together in the overcast sky as I entered Franklin (a few miles south of Greenwood) one evening several weeks ago---a seasonally pleasant backdrop for this, my inaugural review for you, dear reader, as well as my maiden visit to Richard's Kitchen.

I parked along the quaint, storefront-lined Main Street, and after a short walk discovered the diminutive restaurant tucked away just south of town square (although Richard's does have a small parking lot if you're not in the mood for a stroll).

I arrived shortly before six o'clock (passing by two gentlemen seated in the patio area out front, relaxing with a couple frosty pints) and was immediately greeted and seated.

To begin the meal, I chose the Trout Pate ($6.95), a thick (nearly too cream-cheesy) appetizer filled with delicate flakes of trout meat and served with golden-toasted bread rounds sprinkled with caramelized scallion---this I enjoyed with a glass of Pinot Grigio as I continued to glance over both my dinner options, as well as the restaurant's unique layout.

First, the menu, while conspicuously concise, was composed of many traditional entrees (which I hoped did not translate into boring): Prime Rib Au Jus ($21.95 for a 14 oz. portion), New York Strip Steak ($32.95), Aged Fillet of Beef ($26.95), and Chicken Marsala ($16.95); but the menu's modesty was compensated by the evening's numerous dinner specials, which included a Rock Shrimp Diablo with Spicy Aioli, a Pan-Fried Idaho Trout paired with Orange-Tarragon Remoulade, and a Baked Walnut-Crusted Salmon. I settled on the Chicken Marsala---not out of a desire for familiarity, I assure you, but simply due to my curiosity as to the Chef's personal interpretation of this classic dish.

Okay, stay with me---back to the layout. The restaurant, like its menu, is a modest one; but this is, to be certain, far from a pejorative remark. Immediately upon walking in earlier that evening I'd counted myself as the fifth customer in the building, but Richard's filled up quickly. And soon after, the tiny restaurant was infused with carefree conversation and the white linen-clad tabletops were stemmed with crystal glasses of Cabernet. Cocoa-colored curtains covered tall and wide windows, which ran along the entire west side of the restaurant, adding to the warmth and character of the place; and not for the first time that evening, I tried imagining what the building had been prior to this venture.

The elegantly-lit dining room at Richard's Kitchen is a cozy, oblong affair, which extends straight back to what I initially presumed was a small lounge-style area (primarily due to the surrounding barstools), but upon a more careful examination I realized it was actually the kitchen, divided from the dining room with nothing more than the bar-top-style half wall. The kitchen, unconfined as it was, humbly housed both grill and sauté stations, as well a garde manger (that's gard-mawn-zhay, by the way) station for cold food, salad and dessert prep---the effect being a comfortable contrast between hissing skillets and occasional leaping flames, and the soothing bass-string-tumble of '50s era jazz drifting through the candle-lit dining room.

I ordered another glass of wine.

This atmospheric recipe affords a distinct intimacy between kitchen and customer, so much so that Chef Richard Goss found time to briefly stop by several tables, greeting diners and answering questions (in one instance, per a guest's request, making a last minute adjustment to the Penne Bolognese dinner special). The gracious chef then paused at my table, introducing himself and welcoming me to his culinary digs. I took the opportunity to inquire as to the history of the unique floor plan, and Chef Goss enthusiastically explained that the building had originally a Studebaker dealership. He gestured toward the aforementioned showcase windows and drew my attention to the concrete wheel ramps, which (I hadn't noticed when I walked in) doubled as the entryway and host stand. Chef Goss parted shortly before my entrée arrived.

The Chicken Marsala's well-balanced presentation was a pleasant surprise as opposed to (sadly) the all too common soggy chicken breast drowning in an overzealous pool of thick, beef-base gravy. No, Chef Goss was straightforward and honest about the tender, pan-fried chicken breast, glazed (just right) with a velvety, mushroom-wine sauce, which was accompanied by basmati rice, sautéed asparagus, carrots, and zucchini. I took my first bite and was rewarded with the rich flavors of a judiciously seasoned entrée prepared with confidence and care.

I could not, satisfied as I was, overlook dessert, and eventually---having bypassed both the temptations of honey-caramel Crème Brulée ($6.45) and the butter-rum Bananas Foster ($7.45)---selected the Molten Chocolate Cake ($6.45), which was personally delivered by the garde manger himself, clearly proud of his chantilly cream-topped, fresh strawberry-garnished semi-sweet creation, and rightfully so.

From the menu to the dining room, and from the perfectly portioned dishes to the kitchen, it's quite apparent that Chef Richard Goss has subscribed to quality over quantity, and nearly every aspect of my experience reflected the Chef's fine-dining sensibilities.

Richard's Kitchen (located at 229 South Main Street, Franklin) offers lunch Tuesday through Friday from 11:00 a.m. to 2:00 a.m., and opens its doors for dinner from 5:30 to 10:00 p.m., Tuesday through Saturday. My advice: if you're planning to duck in on a weekend evening, make a reservation, as, again the tables are snatched up swiftly; and, if possible, leave the kids at home---make it a romantic meal (or maybe afterwards pay a visit to the Willard pub for a cold one or three).

I crossed through town square on the way back to my car, passing the beautifully-lit courthouse before taking to the sidewalk where nostalgic storefront awnings fluttered in the October evening breeze, and it was difficult to dismiss the notion that Richard's Kitchen---aside from the historic Artcraft Theater, of course---is truly one of Franklin's small town treasures.